


Men Without Armor

by almaelson



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Job, Deep Connection, Emotional Connection, First Time, Hand Job, Intimate talks, M/M, Talking, long talks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-10
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2019-03-29 10:41:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13925457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/almaelson/pseuds/almaelson
Summary: During the siege of Riverrun, Jaime and Brynden rekindle an old relationship and then change it, through shared stories and sex, to something transcendent that will change Jaime unalterably.





	Men Without Armor

**Author's Note:**

> This is a mashup of both TV-verse and book-verse, so please keep that in mind if you choose to read.

            “You’re a man now, I see.”

            Jaime started to bristle but caught himself and only let a frown shadow his face. “I’ve been a man for a very long time, Ser.”

            “Hmph. Not as long as I have.”

            When Jaime was a boy, during his two weeks at Riverrrun, he’d heard one servant say that the Blackfish’s voice sounded like it had spent a year in the wilderness; carved away at by wind, beveled by falling rocks. His face was what most folk would surely call “weather beaten,” but Jaime knew better. Weather and the wilderness had nothing to do with it. The Blackfish’s growl was formed by endless shouted battle commands. His face had been creased and lined by concentration during his training for years, then by the battles that had had his name on the lips of all the men of the Seven Kingdoms, warriors and commoners alike. A younger son of House Tully, Brynden had carved his way to fame by the sword.

            Like an honorable man. Instead of a sword thrust through the back of a mad king, the wet, squelching sound of blade piercing internal organs and the wound leaking blood back onto Jaime’s hands. The act that had put Jaime’s name onto the lips of all men, who toasted the death of the tyrant at the same time they spat out Jaime’s name with a mouthful of hatred.

            “Are you still here, Kingslayer? Or are you somewhere back on that path to manhood you claim to have taken?”

            This time, Jaime did bristle, and despite himself, he let it show.

            “I’m not here to debate my manhood with you, Blackfish. I assumed you’d invited me in to sign Riverrun over to my House without the prying eyes of those who might see your shame.”

            He immediately regretted the words. Shame began to curdle inside him instead.

            The Blackfish didn’t bother raising an eyebrow or quirking his mouth. He leveled his battle-beaten stare at Jaime until Jaime’s whole body was itching to turn away. He was at a lower vantage point, sitting at his desk, but he could have been ten feet tall at that moment.

            “Shame” was one word Jaime Lannister should have known better than to apply to Brynden “Blackfish” Tully. The Blackfish lived, some would say notoriously, a life free of shame. At least twenty-five marriage proposals had been offered to him. He’d turned them all down and had born his father’s fury until the day the old man had breathed his last. The whispers were that he was unnatural in some way, to have refused so many beautiful, high-born women. The quiet whispers speculated that his “parts” could not aid the conception of children. The snarkier whispers claimed he had no parts at all and fins hidden under that signature, scaly armor he wore.

            Jaime knew better. It was obvious.

            The Blackfish was already married. He had been married his whole life. To his role as a warrior. The same way that Jaime had been married to Cersei his whole life, although his marriage was not one he could parade and wear as a public badge.

            “Still dancing in the past, I see.”

            Jaime squeezed his eyes shut and opened them onto the Blackfish’s stare, now tinged with wry amusement. _Stop it_ , he chided himself. _You’re a man, not a hero-worshiping child anymore_.

            “I’ve been wondering how they’ll look at you, the people of the Riverlands, at you later tonight. At the man who gave his castle to the Lannisters. Will they say you had no choice? Or will they curse you in their nightly prayers to the Seven?”

            “Liar.”

            “You know quite as well as I do that the people-”

            “You Lannister liar. That’s not what you were thinking about. Gods, you’re an obvious one, Kingslayer. You’ve not seen me since you were a boy but I was already a man then, the man I still am now. You questioned me for hours when you were supposed to be courting my niece. Poor Lysa never had a chance. You only had eyes and ears for me.” The Blackfish widened his wry smile and even gave a little tilt of his head, not at all unlike the ones Cersei sometimes gave to underscore her point. The Blackfish’s silver hair swung gently to the side. A coil of dizziness at the similarities between the movements unraveled in Jaime’s head and he reflexively put his left hand on his sword. He’d spent countless hours drilling with Bronn to think of his left hand, his only hand, as his default weapon, as his strength. Blood and sweat (but not tears) had covered his left hand and his face.

            There was nothing worse than being called a liar by your childhood hero. Nothing worse except losing your sword hand. And perhaps that had been less painful than this.

            The Blackfish stood, the scales on his black armor shaking and shimmering in the beam of light from the window behind him. “You think I’m teasing you.”

            “I think you’re insulting me.”

            “And why would I do that? And don’t whine, ‘Because I’m a _Lannister_.’ The boy I knew back then wouldn’t be so petty and obvious.”

            Jaime clasped his sword pommel harder. “You didn’t know me. I was here for a mere two weeks.”

            “And with whom did you try to spend all your waking moments with?”

            Jaime tried to return his stare. He didn’t like being beaten at this verbal game. How Cersei would laugh if she could see him now. _My brother the lion_ , she’d say, _made tongue-tied by a fish._

            “I was a boy,” Jaime breathed more than said. “I wanted to be a knight. I wanted all your tales of glory and heroics because they were what I wanted for myself. It wasn’t about you. It was about the man I wanted to become.”

            “Hmph. I see. So that’s how you rationalize it.”

            Jaime felt his patience fraying. The Blackfish’s words were too similar to the ones Ned Stark had said to him in the throne room so many years ago. _It felt like justice_ , Jaime had told Ned, defending his sword thrust in the back of the man who’d burned Ned’s father and brother to death. _Is that what you tell yourself at night?_ Ned had returned in that low, northern accented voice, before passing by Jaime without a second look. Ned was long dead, a victim of his own stupidity. Why did the words still grate? Why could the Blackfish, after so many years, still read him like a book, like they shared some psychic link?

            Jaime cleared his throat as quietly as he could. “I don’t need to rationalize it, Blackfish. I knew who I was then. I know who I am now. Sign that piece of paper and we’re finished here. You’ll never see me again. You can enjoy the memories of telling me stories as a boy all alone in this gods-forsaken piece of swampland you call a home.”

            He felt weary suddenly. It was no small shock to him when he saw the same look in the Blackfish’s eyes.

            “Listen to me, Kingslayer, I grow weary of this too, this back-and-forth where I tell you what I already know about you and you feign ignorance. You know I’m not going to sign your little piece of paper, though I’ve little doubt you’ll be able to convince my fool nephew to. We might as well make our last meeting in this miserable world enjoyable.” The Blackfish stepped from behind his desk and approached Jaime, close enough that Jaime could see the eye on the black fish pin that held the other man’s cloak together. Jaime took a step back and then cursed himself. The Blackfish stopped walking and gazed at him. Not stared, this time. Gazed. When he spoke, his voice was low, and there was another quality to it that Jaime remembered well. It was earnestness, the same tone the Blackfish had used when telling Jaime stories.

            “I can tell that you’re annoyed with me. I can tell that you think I’m playing with you out of spite because before sundown, you’ll have this castle and I’ll have fuck-all but my pride. You see me as old and bitter. I see you only as bitter. I think you haven’t realized that I am, in truth, not bitter. And I don’t think you haven’t realized it because you’re stupid, that somehow you lost your intelligence when you lost that hand. You’re not stupid. Men see you that way now, don’t they? Stupid Jaime Lannister who let himself get captured by a little Stark boy and who got his hand chopped off before he made it home, and then with only the help of a woman. Do you know why I asked to see your stump? Why I called you ‘maimed’ in front of your soldiers and my own?”

            Jaime stood rigid, wary of where this conversation was leading. He didn’t have time for this. He needed to leave and find Edmure to sign the damned treaty already so he could send a raven to Cersei that Riverrun was theirs. He tried one last parry.

            “I’m not interested why you thought mocking me in front of _my soldiers and yours_ was so important. If you know me so well, after all this time, you should know I’ve been spat on for most of my life. I don’t hear the spitting anymore. I don’t carry the jeers with me to my sleep at night. I don’t care about our last meeting being ‘enjoyable.’ I have work to do. You have none.”

            “Oh, but I do. I have one more thing to do before I never see you again.”

            Jaime resisted the urge to simply turn and walk out of the room. “I’m in agony to find out what that might be.”

            The Blackfish, every line on his face visible from this distance, made one more line on his face. It was the tiniest of smiles.

            “I’m going to tell you one last story.”

            It was the last thing Jaime expected to hear. And yet he felt he should have known better. What had he desired more than anything during his two weeks here when he was a boy? The outpouring of stories as he sat at the dinner table with a pouting Lysa on one side and this wonder of a man on his other. Jaime would turn his body completely toward the Blackfish to listen, as if the closer he sat, the quicker the words would reach his ears. He’d perfected listening as a form of art, the sharpening of his mind to record every detail. Every sword swung, every name of a knight defeated, every battle cry, every drop of sweat on the Blackfish’s face as he stood alone with his enemies bleeding out at his feet. After all these years, he still had the stories in a book tucked away in his mind, as real to him as the White Book of the Kingsguard. Stories were the tie that bound him to the Blackfish even now. As much as he tested the ties in his mind, they refused to sever.

            The Blackfish motioned with a hand. “Come and listen to me. It’s the last thing I’ll ask of you.” Without waiting for a response, he walked smoothly past Jaime, out the oak door, and down the echoing hall. Jaime stood alone for a moment. _Curse this man._ He followed.

            He walked the hall until he saw the ajar door. Looking inside, he saw a desk not dissimilar to the one the Blackfish had been sitting behind not five minutes ago. He pushed the door completely open and entered, confused. It took a moment before he saw the Blackfish to his left.

            Sitting on the end of a bed.

            Jaime stopped short. “Is this a joke? Another joke at my expense, Blackfish?”

            The Blackfish had taken his armor off. It lay in a neat pile on a chair in the corner. His tunic and boots were as black as his armor but even without it, he looked every inch the knight. Straight-backed. Feet flat on the ground. Eyes clear.

            “Did I ask you to sit, Kingslayer?”

            “Thank your gods you didn’t, Blackfish.”

            “Then stand, for all I care. But listen to me.”

            The Blackfish drew a soft breath. The sound was beautiful, in a way. Jaime reached for his pommel again. _Curse this man to the seven hells_.

            Instead of looking around the spare room, at the desk, the lone chair in the corner, the iron posts of the bed, the Blackfish kept his eyes on Jaime.

            “When I was a boy, not much older than you were when I last saw you, I knew another boy who dreamed of honor. He was the son of a minor bannerman of my father’s and my father took a shine to him, invited him for dinner every week. This boy was the youngest of five brothers and didn’t have the expectations placed on his shoulders that his brothers did.” The Blackfish’s voice was even huskier than usual. “Because of that, he had a lot of free time. He wanted to train with the sword, and we practiced together.

            “This boy and I sparred every day. We thought up the worst insults we could and flung them at each other. We took long swims in the river and tried to push each other under. He was as a good a swimmer as I was. It would have rankled me had it been any other boy. Not even Hoster was as good as I was. But because it was my best friend, I admired him. We spent hours lying on the banks in the sun, telling our favorite stories, naming our favorite heroes. Not so different than what you wanted to hear when you met me, was it?”

            Jaime didn’t reply. Had he had the words, he wouldn’t have said them anyway.

            The Blackfish, unmoved, continued. “This boy and I, our fathers didn’t pay as much attention to us as they did our elder brothers. Hoster got the bulk of my father’s grooming for glory. My friend got almost none from his father. We had so much free time to run around. Too much, our fathers would say if they knew what we ended up doing.”

            Jaime gripped his pommel. He didn’t like where this was going. Why hadn’t he known better?

            “When we were sixteen, we had lean, hard bodies from years of swimming and sparring. He would catch me looking at him, and I would catch him looking at me. Not so much looking as gazing, to be truthful. We laughed it off for a long while, splashed water at each other or swung our blades faster. It became a kind of game. Which one of us could look at the other without being caught for the longest time? At least, that’s what we told ourselves. It was a joke up until the day it wasn’t.

            “We were toweling off after a swim near one of the stables. I was a boy who was proud of my self-control, who didn’t make a move without deciding to make it first. But I slipped that day. Without deciding to do it, I touched his chest, felt the water dripping down his skin run over my fingers. He looked down at my hand. He looked up at me. He looked more serious than I’d ever seen him, and I was terrified to my bones for a moment. I wasn’t a boy who liked to make mistakes. What boy who wants to be a knight enjoys making mistakes? I felt like my life was ending and I felt like sobbing. I felt like I needed to never see him again. I tried to take my hand away but then, without even the grace of the Seven, he blessed me. He caught my hand and brought it to his mouth, kissed one of my fingers. I started sinking to my knees. He caught me before I reached the ground, led me into the barn, up the ladder to the loft. We made love until we couldn’t move from pure exhaustion. We lay there afterwards, picking pieces of straw from each other’s bodies, promising to love one another until the longest winter ended the world. And then even longer than that.”

            Jaime tried to still the shaking he felt in his hand, then in his shoulders, then in his knees. There was a reason he was being told this story and he was terrified that he knew what it was.

            The Blackfish closed his eyes for a moment and clasped his hands. “We had three glorious months after that. No one paid enough attention to us to notice how much time we spent in the barn. All I had to do was dismiss the stable boys and tell them I wanted a quiet place to think. They obeyed without question, never asking me why I didn’t go to my room to think. The last thing they imagined was that I was lying with a boy in there. It was the last thing any of my family imagined. I was training to be a knight. Knights didn’t love other boys. They married and fathered as many children as they could in between wars. That was the way of the world. Well, I decided, fuck the world. This was my happiness. It was his happiness. Nothing was more important than that. You see now, the name ‘Blackfish’ has been in my blood all my life.”

            The Blackfish paused. He hadn’t taken his eyes away from Jaime’s. Jaime held his gaze, grasped his pommel ever harder, and waited for the story to continue. When it didn’t, he said without thinking, “Yes, and then?” Then he closed his eyes and inwardly cringed. It was the reaction the Blackfish had wanted, for he chuckled in his low, scratchy way.

            “Do you want to guess how the story continues?”

            Jaime narrowed his eyes. “Not particularly. Since you seem bent on suspense, I imagine it had a tragic end. Your father found you and your boy out, most likely.”

            The Blackfish didn’t move and Jaime felt a small triumph. It was about time he beat the Blackfish at this tiring game.

            “No,” the Blackfish said, dashing Jaime’s hopes in an instant. “My father never found out. Neither did Hoster. No one did. I met my lover at the river one day and he had a nasty bruise and welt across his cheek. We sat on the bank and he told me his father had struck him in a rage of frustration. His father had offered him as a husband to ten different high-born ladies, both in the Riverlands and out. Their fathers all rejected his proposal. My boy was of no importance, they said. As a fifth son, he had hardly any gifts to bring to his bride, certainly not enough to warrant her dowry. Perhaps one of his elder brothers were free? But they were all spoken for. My boy had walked in on his father tearing up letters of rejection and shouting at the ravens who’d brought them. ‘Father,’ he’d said, ‘it’s of little consequence. I need not marry to have a successful life. I have been training to be a knight for years. Let me honor you by winning in battle and you need never worry about me again.’ His father, hand decked with rings, backhanded him across the face. ‘There is no honor in being an unmarried knight. Glory means nothing when you’ve been rejected by every respectable lord in the Realm. You are too low-born. You will never be a captain. Any conquests you make will bring me nothing but bitterness when I am asked about you, asked why you have no wife to return to.’ My lover shot back, ‘If I am so unimportant, why does it matter if I have a high-born wife? If I am so unimportant, then no one will be asking after me at all, will they?’ It was the bravest thing he could have said. And it was the worst thing he could have said. It decided his fate.

            “I listened with growing horror and my boy told me he was being sent away. I asked when he’d return, but I already knew it was a futile question. I knew it without seeing the tears in his eyes. I managed to choke out, ‘Where?’ Do you know where he went?”

            Jaime realized that he did know. “The Wall,” he said in a voice that surprised him with its softness, its empathy.

            The Blackfish closed his eyes again and didn’t open them when he continued. “His father wanted him wiped out of existence. His father wanted to pretend his child had never been born. He wanted everyone in the Riverlands to forget that his fifth son had ever existed. A Night’s Watchman named Yoren was down from the Wall, making his regular trip to round up ne’er-do-wells and lads of poor prospects to take the black. My lover’s father conferred with this Yoren in absolute secrecy that his boy’s identity was never to be revealed. Not even in that gods-forsaken hell of ice and snow did his father trust my boy’s name to truly die. The night before he left, I climbed into his room and we made love until the dawn, between our bouts of tears. He kissed my fingers like he had that first day. ‘I will find a way,’ he said. ‘I will find a way to come back to you.’ ‘You can’t,’ I begged him, even as I wished it could be. ‘You know what they do to deserters.’ ‘I don’t care,’ he whispered. ‘It’d be worth it to see you again.’ He held me as we wept. I’d never wept before. It exhausted me but I made sure I did not fall asleep. I drank in every inch of my lover, body and soul, until the house stirred and I had to escape. He took my face in his hands at the windowsill and whispered, ‘I can’t wait to see you again.’”

            The Blackfish opened his eyes. There were no tears in them. He looked weary in a way that a good cry could never cure. “Do you think I ever saw him again?”

            Jaime ran his thumb back and forth, back and forth over the pommel of his sword. He didn’t want to whisper again. He cleared his throat and said, “No,” as evenly as he could.

            Eyes closing again, the Blackfish gave a small smile that Jaime found irritated him beyond reason. “You smile at that? That you never saw him again?”

            The Blackfish opened his eyes and looked serenely at Jaime this time. “No,” he said with a joy that shocked Jaime to his core. “I am smiling because his father’s plan backfired. Spectacularly. My lover became the greatest ranger of his time. His swordsmanship was almost unmatched, his bravery lauded as fierce even among a group of men living at the world’s edge. He volunteered to go beyond the Wall every time the Lord Commander took a party to scare back the wildlings. Ravens bearing news flew South and mentioned that this ranger was responsible for many victories in Wildling skirmishes. The news was so extraordinary that word spread from King’s Landing to the Riverlands and my lover’s father learned that it was his son who had gained a kind of fame his father had prayed he never would. Because each of the messages the ravens sent bore my lover’s true name.

            “The messages kept coming. Word kept spreading. More and more people knocked on his father’s door, wanting to shake the hand of the man who’d born such a famous, strong son. He excels in fighting, they’d say to him. Why didn’t you keep such a talented son for your own? Then, after many, many years, came the news that my lover had lost a large part of one hand when fighting a wildling. Yet what could have been perceived as a mistake, a weakness, had the opposite effect. It increased my lover’s fame tenfold. ‘The Halfhand’ was suddenly on everyone’s lips. Fathers began to tell their sons stories of the Halfhand’s courage. Mother prayed their daughters would marry a man as distinguished in fighting and honor. It was the coming of the Halfhand that made his father’s heart finally give out one day. Or at least, that is what I have always believed.”

            As the Blackfish paused for a moment, Jaime searched his memory. “The Halfhand” sounded vaguely familiar, someone mentioned in passing at the Red Keep, perhaps by his father, perhaps by his sister after a small council meeting…

            And then he knew. “The Halfhand. He knew Mance Rayder.”

            “Aye. He knew him. Knew him before he deserted and became King-Beyond-the- Wall. I wonder sometimes, when I’m not asleep at night, if they ever fought face-to-face. I always decide that they didn’t, or else Mance Rayder never would have lived to create the army he did.”

            “I imagine the Halfhand was furious.” Why was he doing this? Contributing to the story? Jaime silenced himself and stood up straighter.

            Now the Blackfish’s eyes narrowed. “Do you think so? Do you think my lover, a man who knew the risks of following his own heart, would have judged another man for doing the same? Do you, Kingslayer?”

            “I never met your lover. I don’t _presume_ anything,” Jaime shot back, irritation rising and needling in his chest. “Why do I care what he felt about a king who was never a king to begin with?”

            “Because you care about honor, Kingslayer.” The Blackfish slowly clenched his hands into fists. “I thought you might like to hear about a man who prized honor and passed no judgements on those who followed their hearts.”

            “Mance Rayder became a wildling. He wanted to kill your lover and all the other Crows. I cannot help but believing your logic is somewhat tenuous in this case, Blackfish.”

            “Aye, Mance Rayder wanted to kill my lover. All the wildlings did. But if you were Mance Rayder, wouldn’t you want to do the same?”

            “I am not _Mance Rayder_ and we are not speaking about _me_.”

            “Oh, but are we not? Do you not have a particular understanding of outsiders, Kingslayer? If I’m wrong, then rip off that shiny fucking Lannister gold trinket of a fake hand and beat me with your mangled stump.”

            Jaime clenched his teeth until they hurt. “You forget that I’m immune to insults.”

            “And you, _Ser_ , forget that I know who you are.”

            “I doubt that.”

            “I’ll prove it to you. Did you not just say that I insulted you?”

            Jaime twisted his mouth in disdain. “I said no such thing.”

            “Oh, but you did. You told me you were immune to insults. So that means I’m insulting you when I call you ‘Kingslayer’ and taunt you about your stump.”

            “I-” Jaime closed his mouth when he realized it had been open a second too long. He didn’t like this story. He didn’t like this game. He straightened his posture. “I’m leaving. I’m going to find your nephew, I’m going to take your castle, and then I’m leaving.”

            The Blackfish tilted his head again, that infuriating motion. Jaime was about to turn on his heel when he heard, “That’s not like you, Jaime. You never left me before you knew how the story ended.”

            Jaime wanted to slap him. Because he couldn’t argue with him. Not this time. The Blackfish had told Jaime too many stories too many times. Jaime never left the table before the story ended. The Blackfish would tease him, say, “Oh, that’s enough for now, lad, let a man have a rest before you assault him with your questions again,” and begin to rise from the table. And Jaime had pleaded, horrified, for the Blackfish to complete the tale, even tugged at his sleeve once or twice. And the Blackfish had laughed and sat back down and given Jaime the satisfaction of the tale’s ending, gesturing his hands, whispering and then yelling, making Jaime laugh and even clap his hands.

            Oh, how young he’d been. Oh, how young he felt now. He battled his mind, tried to slice his traitorous thoughts to pieces, but they reformed and tugged at him stronger than ever. Yes. He did want to hear how the story ended.

            He stared at the Blackfish and said nothing. He knew he need say nothing. He’d given up trying to disbelieve that fact that the Blackfish could read him like a book. So he stared and waited to hear the end.

            “Hoster got a raven not long before he died,” the Blackfish said, the crags in his voice giving edges to his words. “My Catelyn, gods rest her soul, read it to him out loud. It was sent directly from the Wall. It was a message from a man called Aemon, a Maester, telling Hoster that he’d heard I’d been a particular friend of the Halfhand and to ask him to break it to me gently that the Halfhand had been killed, most likely by wildlings, beyond the Wall. Apparently, my lover had asked Commander Mormont to send this message if he shouldn’t return from any of his missions. As my brother was fading fast and in no state to break anything to me, my Cat turned to me and said, ‘Uncle, I am so, _so_ very sorry for your loss.’ The way she said it, I knew that she understood. I never saw her enough to tell her my whole story, but, intelligent woman that she was, she intuited many things about her old, cranky, bachelor uncle. She embraced me, and I leaned my head on her shoulder and waited for the tears to come, but they never did. My grief was too big for tears this time.”

            “Because you never saw him again, like he said you would,” Jaime said quietly. _Fuck,_ he thought. Why did he keep speaking to this man?

            The Blackfish blinked and looked Jaime in the eye. “Ah,” he said quietly. “You remembered that part, did you? Well, there you have it. That’s the end of the tale. The last tale I wanted to tell you. You can go now. Go find my nephew, get the fuck out of my castle, and go back to your own lover.”

            Jaime’s stomach flipped. “I have no lov-”

            “Aren’t you tired of playing this game?” The Blackfish finally rose to his feet and faced Jaime across the room. “Do you think I don’t know about you and the Queen?”

            “I don’t know what rumors you’ve heard. I don’t particularly care,” Jaime said, trying to even out the trembling in his voice.

            The Blackfish gave a nod. “Rumor it may be. What do I care if it’s true or not? Why do you care if I think it’s true?”

            “I don’t.”

            “Then tell the truth for once in your life, for fuck’s sake.”

            “Are you calling me a liar again?”

            “Would you rather I called you something else, Kingslayer?”

            “I’m done with your tales. I’m not a boy anymore. I don’t need bedtime stories of glory. I made my life what I wanted it to be.”

            “No more than I have.” The Blackfish took a step toward him. “So will you take your armor off for once, Jaime Lannister? Oh, you foolish man, be reasonable would you?” he said as Jaime looked aghast at the suggestion. “Take off the lies. Take off your pride. What’s your name?”

            “Is this a joke?”

            “What’s. Your. Name?

            “I’m leaving.”

            “It’s not ‘Kingslayer’, is it? Tell me there’s more to you than the sword you shoved into Aerys Targaryen’s back when he wasn’t looking.”

            “Why should I tell you more?”

            “So there _is_ more?”

            “FOR GODS’ SAKES,” Jaime shouted before he could stop himself. He breathed in a huff, clenching his pommel so tight that it bit into the soft flesh of his fingers. He had to stop himself from running his hand through his hair in frustration. He glared at the Blackfish, expecting him to look shocked that he’d lost control for a moment.

            Jaime should have known better.

            The Blackfish took another step toward him. Jaime couldn’t look the Blackfish in the eye right now. Too much wild energy was coursing in his blood. He wanted to get out of here. He was tired.

            He was tired.

            The realization unexpectedly calmed his heartbeat, set his blood back to running at its usual pace. Tired. It was tiring to pretend he didn’t care when people spat “Kingslayer” at him. It was tiring that he was judged on one choice out of the other thousands he’d made in his life. It was tiring when people called him a man without honor. Weary. A state beyond tired. A state beyond tears. A state that required constant armor. His life was an act. He had been acting the whole time he’d been with the Blackfish. And now he was being given permission to speak as himself, not as any of the world’s perceptions of him.

            Slowly, Jaime raised his eyes to the other man. There was no sarcasm in the Blackfish’s eyes, no ridicule. Instead, there was the familiar gleam that Jaime remembered always accompanied the beginning of a story.

            He knew the Blackfish knew that he remembered it. “Would you like to tell me a story, Jaime?” He stepped aside and gestured to the edge of the bed.

            Jaime found, finally, that he no longer wanted to run. Instead, he took off his armor and sword, left them in the corner, sat on the bed, and combed his hair with his left hand. The Blackfish stood where Jaime had been standing and clasped his hands behind his back. “Shall I start it for you?” he asked, his voice rough but kind. “I knew an honorable boy once. Tell me what became of him.”

            Jaime cradled his face in his hand, closed his eyes, breathed in deeply. He found he didn’t have the energy to care what the Blackfish thought about him anymore. He found that he knew the Blackfish did not, in fact, care how he acted, if he wanted to cry, scream, or beat his fists bloody against the wall. He knew there’d be no judgment.

            “I loved you, you know,” he began, not caring how the words sounded. “I loved you. I loved your stories, yes, but I loved _you_. The way I could depend on you to talk to me when we sat down to dinner. The way I could run up to you by the river and you’d pretend to try to push me in. The way you paid attention to me not just because I was a potential husband for Lysa, but because I was a person worth talking to. You didn’t see me as a brat whose pockets were spilling with gold coins. Or if you did, you never let on.” He chuckled ruefully. “The stories. They were more than just stories to me. They were a sign that someone cared about me. Someone apart from my sister. I didn’t see a lot of her in those days, you know. I was being shuffled around to different teachers for training. I was good, but I needed to be great to be in the Kingsguard. Cersei was closeted away most of the time, taught manners, dancing, how to act with a king when she was finally wed to one. Given how heavily our rooms were guarded, we could hardly ever sneak away and find each other. But when we managed to, even briefly, I knew why I had been born. It wasn’t to be good with a sword. It was to be with her. I was meant to be with Cersei. Nothing else mattered.” Jaime wiped his fingers across his sweaty forehead. The light was fading slightly. He’d been with the Blackfish for an hour or more.

            “I took refuge in you. You were the one thing that made leaving her bearable. You were the one person who didn’t look at me as a stuck-up Casterly Rock lordling, but you didn’t kneel to lick my boots either. When you spoke to me, I was your equal. I loved you for it. I love you still for it. I love Cersei but she locks her heart up sometimes, when she gets angry. I try to soothe her but sometimes she lashes out at me. It breaks my heart. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I can say to her that I haven’t already said. That I love her, that she’s my world, that I’d slay a thousand more kings if it meant I could stay by her side, in her arms. Now that she’s Queen, she…she wears armor of a type I’ve never seen before. I want her to wear it in front of our enemies. I don’t want her to wear it in front of me. She sees danger everywhere, suspects everyone of _something_. I understand, I do. After what they did to her, locked her up, cut off her glorious hair, made her walk naked and get pelted with raw vegetables and shit. She holds a bigger sword than I do, these days. I miss her. I want to be with her. I want to be with her no matter how much armor she wears. But I’m tired.”

            Jaime pressed his fingers across his eyes, watched the funny shapes and light slowly move around in the darkness behind his eyelids. He was only vaguely aware of the soft movement next to him when the Blackfish sat beside him. When he took his hand away from his eyes, he saw the man’s eyes looking not in his own, but at his gold hand. The thought passed between them unspoken. Jaime nodded, and the Blackfish gently took hold of it and pulled it free. He set it carefully on the floor next to the bed and sat back up. Jaime waited for him to look at his stump. When the Blackfish didn’t, he felt lost for a moment, and then deeply moved, almost to the point of a choke in his throat.

            “I don’t care,” the Blackfish said. “I would never judge.”

            “I know,” Jaime whispered.

            The Blackfish inclined his head slightly toward Jaime. It wasn’t that infuriating head tilt; it was a question. “Tell me one thing. Have you ever been with a man?”

            Jaime paused a moment, the question less shocking to his system than he’d expected. “No,” he said simply.

            “Have you ever dreamt of being with one?”

            Jaime nodded. All the memories of going to sleep at night in Riverrun with the Blackfish’s throaty voice still in his ears. The picture of his only-slightly graying, auburn hair framing his ruggedly handsome face in his mind. Eyes open or closed, the desire had caused a flutter in his stomach, one he had only ever felt before when he looked at Cersei. He’d run his hands through his hair, trying to calm himself, to quell the longing. His body had betrayed him again and again. It was betraying him now. And yet betrayal felt like the wrong word now, with his armor off.

            The right word for what he was feeling was _freedom_.

Jaime breathed out shakily but answered true. “Yes. You. A hundred times.”

            “Would you like to be with me before we never see each other again?”

            “Yes.” No hesitation.

            Jaime sucked in a breath as the Blackfish gently picked up Jaime’s right arm and softly pressed his lips to the skin above the end of it. He looked up at Jaime while his mouth remained there. “Call me ‘Brynden’,” he whispered.

            For once in his life, Jaime threw down his sword and let it clatter into the gutter. He let the sweetness of his choice of freedom lift him up, even as he let himself be lowered slowly back on the bed. Brynden moved carefully above him and brought his hand to either side of Jaime’s face. Jaime arched his neck, a smile finally playing at his lips as he reveled in the rough feel of Brynden’s palms. These were hands that had swung as many swords as Jaime himself had. These were hands that spoke the same language. He didn’t realize he’d closed his eyes until he opened them when he felt the waves of Brynden’s hair swing against his cheeks.

            Brynden Tully was a man who’d been called rough in every conceivable way: rough voice, rough fighting, rough attitude. For such a supposedly rough man, each movement he made was gentle, each press of his lips on Jaime’s face soft. The only rough thing was his stubble as he rubbed his cheek against Jaime’s, but it was a pleasure Jaime had never known and now wanted to feel as many times as he could. He held Brynden’s cheek against his own and moved it back and forth. The sensation was exhilarating and Brynden let him move it as long as he wanted, returning the movement while still keeping his palm against Jaime’s other cheek. When Jaime finally rested his head, he felt he could almost be satisfied with this much if no more were ever promised. But Brynden promised far more when he touched his lips to Jaime’s and kissed him, his mouth making a soft sound.

            Jaime’s heart kicked in a painfully sweet beat and his blood hummed as it found that wild energy again. He grasped the back of Brynden’s head with his left hand, weaving his fingers through his hair. He threw his right arm across his back and hugged Brynden as close to his body as possible. He felt sated with the softness of their first moments. Now he craved roughness. He opened his mouth wider against Brynden’s, touching his tongue to the other man’s and then caressing it. Brynden gave a small sigh. Jaime guessed it was of pleasure, because Brynden stroked his tongue against Jaime’s and kissed him faster as Jaime combed his hand through his gray waves. Jaime held Brynden’s mouth firmly against his own.

They shifted their heads from right to left and back, kissing desperately and at all angles, until Brynden, in one smooth movement, moved his head and put his lips on the side of Jaime’s neck. Jaime arched his whole body this time, gasping with his mouth wide open, as Brynden kissed a line up and down his neck. Jaime’s stomach fluttered like it had all those years ago, but stronger and even harder when the warmth of it reached his groin. He grunted and separated from Brynden only for the time it took to move further back on his elbows, then hooked one leg around Brynden’s waist. Brynden let out a ragged breath and moved his hands to Jaime’s chest, tracing the lacings of his tunic with his fingers and kissing Jaime’s jaw. Jaime rolled his head, luxuriating in the feel of Brynden’s hands on his body. With his left hand he pulled at the lacings, fingers clumsy and only knotting them further. Brynden gave a small growl, sat up and straddled Jaime as he tugged the tunic over Jaime’s head. Before Jaime could reach for him, Brynden pulled his own tunic off and threw it blindly behind him. Jaime laughed, and Brynden gave him a warm smile, his lips slightly parted.

As he stretched back over Jaime, he ran his hands up the length of Jaime’s torso. Jaime breathed out, desire becoming hotter in his groin until he felt himself fully hard. He knew Brynden must feel it too, but the other man didn’t reach for his cock. He ran his fingers around Jaime’s nipples before touching each one with the tip of his tongue. Jaime wound his fingers through Brynden’s hair again as he bit back a groan. He was aware that he was already moving his hips up and down. He felt like a teenage boy again, one who couldn’t make lovemaking last, his body too overcome with pleasure. He tried to breathe evenly but his breaths turned ragged as Brynden sucked at a nipple and ran his tongue around it. “I-” Jaime tried, before giving up as his back arched again and every sensation in his body sharpened with heat.

But Brynden heard him, looked up from his chest and brought his face back up to Jaime’s. “What do you need?” he breathed into Jaime’s ear, trailing the backs of his fingers down his cheek.

Jaime closed his eyes and turned his head to kiss Brynden’s fingers. “I’ve never done this before.” He said it without embarrassment. “I don’t know…how to go slow.”

Brynden touched Jaime’s lips with a finger. “Do you want to kiss me for a while?”

Jaime did.

They shifted on the bed, Jaime on top, taking a wave of Brynden’s hair between his fingers and kissing it. It was still as soft as he’d imagined it would be all those years ago, when it was still mostly auburn. Jaime didn’t care that it was all gray now. Brynden was as handsome as the day Jaime had first sat at his side to hear his first tale. He pressed his forehead to Brynden’s and whispered this fact into his ear. Brynden gave a small snort, but when Jaime looked, he was smiling. Jaime kissed his smile, kissed along his jaw as Brynden had done to him. He licked the lines of his collarbones, licked a circle in the hollow of Brynden’s throat. Brynden didn’t arch himself like Jaime did, but Jaime could hear the stutter in his breathing, could feel the rapidity of his chest rising and falling. Brynden stroked Jaime’s hair as Jaime moved down Bryden’s torso, taking one nipple in his mouth and swirling his tongue around it. Brynden’s breathing grew faster and he stroked a line up Jaime’s spine that made Jaime shiver in pleasure. He warmed with the fact that they were able to give each other pleasure at the same time. Brynden’s body was as lean and muscular as it had likely been in his youth, years of swimming and fighting sculpting its shape. Jaime pressed his lips down Brynden’s skin until he reached the top of his pants. He pulled one corner down slightly and kissed, then licked, Brynden’s hipbone. This time Brynden made a noise in his throat and pushed his hip closer to Jaime’s mouth. Jaime ran his tongue in a circle around the bone and he knew Brynden was now as hard as he had been. He was pleased that he’d been able to give the other man this pleasure. He looked up and Brynden was gazing at him, eyes glazed in bliss.

“Do you know,” he said huskily, “that might be one of the best things I’ve ever felt?”

This time is what Jaime who snorted in amusement. “You aren’t serious.”

“I am. You know I am.”

Jaime laid his cheek against Brynden’s stomach. “You’re right. I do.”

“Do you want to know how it feels?”

“What?”

Brynden sat up. “I’ll show you. Yes?”

Jaime felt his breath already catching in his throat. “Yes.”

They shifted again, Jaime lying on his back on Brynden moved his head down to Jaime’s hips. When Brynden tried to unroll the corner of Jaime’s pants, they wouldn’t move, and Brynden snorted slightly again. “Tight-laced, eh?” he asked as Jaime failed to suppress his laughter. His laughs turned to a gasp when Bryden untied not just the top lace, but all the laces, his fingers making their way closer and closer to Jaime’s cock. Instead of turning the corner down again, Bryden gently pulled on Jaime’s pants until both of his hipbones were exposed. Jaime felt the cool air on his lower body only briefly before the warmth of Brynden’s mouth and tongue touched his hip. He arched his neck, and then his back and Brynden’s hand moved to Jaime’s other hipbone and rubbed his thumb against it. Despite the weight of Brynden’s thumb, Jaime’s hips began to roll again, and he felt the tension rising to breaking point in his groin. As if sensing this, Bryden looked up at him. “Are you ready?”

Jaime nodded, breathless.

“Hand or mouth?”

“Mouth.”

Brynden pressed one last kiss to Jaime’s hip before sliding both of his hands down the tops of Jaime’s pants to ease them off his legs while Jaime kicked off his boots. Completely naked now, Jaime took a deep breath and felt a joy he’d never known before. Being naked with a man felt natural and even more exciting than in his teenage fantasies. He felt proud in some way, proud to show his whole body to another man, for another man to drink in his body the way Brynden was doing. Jaime watched in pure happiness and felt delicious shivers as Brynden caressed Jaime’s thighs, kissed the insides of them, slowly moving higher. He paused with his mouth directly above the head of Jaime’s cock, a sly, slightly teasing smile on his face. Jaime hummed, tipped his head back in impatience. Brynden looked at him, amused, then locked his eyes with Jaime’s as he took the head in his mouth.

Jaime’s even breathing shattered and he cried out as his hips kicked up swiftly, but Brynden moved easily with the motion. _Of course,_ Jaime thought in a fragmented way through the haze of pleasure clouding his mind. _He’s done this before. He knows men’s bodies._ He threw his fingers over his mouth as he didn’t trust himself not to scream. The pleasure was quickly becoming ecstasy as Brynden sucked the head of Jaime’s cock, then licked his shaft from base to tip, then finally took his whole length in his mouth. Jaime didn’t bother stopping his hips from bucking. Brynden easily followed their rhythm as they pumped up and down. Jaime’s back strained in an arch that raised his entire chest in the air. Brynden’s mouth was so warm, his tongue so quick and skilled, knowing exactly which spots to touch and press on with his tongue as he slid his mouth up and down.

The ecstasy gathered, held for a moment, then erupted in its purest form. Jaime came, pleasure streaming through his blood as he keened behind his hand, bucking as Brynden still held Jaime’s cock in his mouth. Jaime collapsed back on the bed, hips finally still, only his chest rising and falling with panting breaths. He ran his hand through his hair and felt the sweat slowly cool on his body as Brynden elbowed up to lay beside him. He tried to gather his breath but gave up, letting it hitch as Brynden traced his cheekbone with a thumb. Jaime pulled Brynden’s forehead against his own and enjoyed the press of warm skin against skin as his racing heart slowed and he was finally still, happy just to feel Brynden’s fingers on his face.

“Not bad for a first time?” Brynden breathed into his ear.

Jaime bit his lip and held Brynden’s face closer to his own. “Would it be strange to say ‘Thank you’?”

Brynden gave a soft laugh. “No. Nothing you say during or after lovemaking is strange.”

“Good. Then thank you.”

“I’m pleased if you’re pleased.”

“I need to please you.”

“I sa-”

“No, I mean-” Jaime reached over and thumbed Brynden’s hip. “I _need_ to please you. This isn’t just about me. Tell me what to do.”

Brynden looked at him steadily for a moment, lips parting slightly. “What do you want to do?”

“Anything.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Tell me.”

Brynden licked his lips and stroked Jaime’s face again. “Do you want to know what it feels like to have a man inside you?”

Jaime’s stomach fluttered. In all his fantasies, he’d be the one inside Brynden, but he wasn’t a teenager any more. The idea of another man inside him didn’t make him feel strange or guilty at this moment. There was no shame in letting a man use his body this way, to dominate him this way. The thought of domination excited him. He wanted to know what it felt like from another man. And he wanted to give Brynden all the pleasure in the world.

“Yes.” Jaime hauled himself up and moved around to lean on his elbows but Brynden gripped his arm.

“What’s this?”

“You said you wanted to-”

“Never did you think I could do it while looking in your face, too?”

“I…no. You can?”

“Yes. It’s the way I prefer it. I want to see a man’s face when I’m inside him.”

Jaime felt heat reforming in his veins at the frankness of Brynden’s words. “Yes. Look at me, then.”

Brynden kicked out of his pants and boots, leaned across Jaime, and took a lamp from the side table. Jaime couldn’t see what he was doing with it, only heard metal and glass clinking. When Brynden turned back, his hand was shining with a thick oil.

_Well, that’s useful to keep around for more than just the light_ , Jaime thought as Brynden placed himself between Jaime’s legs. Jaime watched in fascination as Brynden gripped his own cock first, spreading the oil around his entire length. It was as sizeable as Jaime had hoped it would be, both then and now. He’d seen plenty of men’s cocks in very unromantic situations in his life. This was the first time he’d seen a man erect because he wanted to. He felt a twinge of pride in his chest that he could make Brynden hard.

Brynden was watching Jaime watch him, holding his gaze unflinchingly, the corners of his lips turned up almost in a smile. He closed his eyes and breathed slightly shakily as he ran his hand up and down himself a final time. Then he bent closer to Jaime, the last of the oil on his fingers. “You’re sure about this?”

“Please.”

“It may hurt at first but I’ll do my be-”

Jaime shook his head. “I don’t care. Hurry.” He nodded at his cock which was beginning to stiffen again. Brynden laughed for a moment. Then he bent himself over Jaime.

Jaime couldn’t deny that it was an unusual feeling, a man’s wet fingers circling around and gently pushing into his opening, but it was intimate in a way that made him feel even freer than before. The closer he and Brynden became physically, the more he felt knots untie themselves inside him, knots he’d never truly made peace with before this night. His attraction to men. His acceptance of his attraction to men. And now his pride that he had finally bared both his body and soul to another man. His pride only crested when he relaxed and Brynden was able to put the head of his cock inside Jaime. _Oh, Seven Gods._ He gasped a little but nodded as Brynden looked at him questioningly. Brynden clutched one of Jaime’s hips as he gently made to ease himself further inside. “Keep relaxing,” he whispered as Jaime gritted his teeth slightly. “Or we can stop.”

“No.”

Jaime relaxed his mouth and let the sensation spread to all his limbs. The intimacy of the moment was making him feel light-headed, and he spread his legs further apart with the sensation. Brynden gasped as he slid farther inside Jaime, his hand shooting up to grasp Jaime’s shoulder. Jaime breathed deeply and then made a small cry as he felt Brynden touch something inside him, something he’d never felt before. He didn’t know men had a spot inside themselves, too. He found Brynden’s eyes, looked at him in wonder. “Are you feeling it yet?” the other man asked.

“There’s a pleasure there. I didn’t know.”

“Is it good to find out?”

“Gods, yes, I-” Then they both gasped as Brynden slid completely inside Jaime. Brynden leaned on Jaime’s stomach as he put a hand on Jaime’s calf.

“Bend…your legs,” he breathed raggedly, his voice throatier than Jaime had yet heard it. Jaime obeyed, and they adjusted themselves into position. For a moment both men were still, Jaime wide-mouthed and wondrous at the feeling. Brynden was big inside of him, and Jaime relished being free of armor as he looked at the bliss on Brynden’s face. Brynden leaned in and kissed Jaime softly, first on his lips, then on his cheek. “I’m going to move now,” he whispered, and Jaime nodded against his forehead. Brynden swallowed, lifted his head back, pulled slightly out of Jaime, and then moved his hips forward and pushed in again. His mouth was open and his eyes squeezed shut in ecstasy. As the spot of pleasure was touched again and again inside him, Jaime closed his eyes and moaned lowly, but he tried to keep his eyes open in between. Brynden was gorgeous in rapture. The unguarded pleasure on his face moved something in Jaime’s core. To see as controlled and deliberate a man as Brynden slowly lose control and surrender his whole being to pleasure increased Jaime’s arousal. He leaned up as much as he could and grabbed Brynden’s ass with his left hand. Brynden threw his head back again and thrust into Jaime. When he looked down at Jaime, it was with a gleam of wonder in his eye. It felt good to surprise Brynden Tully.

And it only felt better as Jaime continued to grasp as Brynden continued to thrust. When Brynden started moving faster, he’d slow himself down, gently pulling out and pushing in, then slowly increasing the speed. Jaime breathed harder as Brynden touched that sweet spot inside, the ecstasy throbbing in time with each thrust. Brynden held one of Jaime’s legs as he pushed inside him, and Jaime relished the feeling of his grip tighten and slacken, tighten and slacken with the rhythm.

He felt settled in this rhythm for some moments, when he had to muffle a scream of pleasure as Brynden closed his fist around Jaime’s cock. Jaime felt every nerve in his body alight with ecstasy as Brynden pumped his cock while thrusting faster and faster inside him. Between the pulse inside his body and now his cock in Brynden’s rough hand, Jaime felt himself sliding towards his climax.

As soon as he thought it, Brynden looked down at him. “Are you ready?” he asked again, voice cracking. Jaime nodded his chin up and feverishly watched as Brynden threw his head back again and began to buck his hips harder. He started keening, just as Jaime had done, his grip on Jaime’s leg as strong as iron and his hand pumping Jaime as fast as possible. Jaime fell apart first, the sweet spot inside him pulsing until it seared his body with the intensity of the climax it gave him, only a moment before he returned the buck of Brynden’s hips and came in Brynden’s hand, his body paralyzed with pure pleasure. His breathing ragged, he reached up and grabbed Brynden’s ass again, then watched in wonder as Brynden bucked one, two, three more times, then threw his head back one final time as he came inside Jaime, his nails digging into Jaime’s calf as he slowed his pumping hips down. Jaime winced slightly and bit his lip but the pain paled in comparison to his fascination with Brynden’s face, so awash in joy, eyes closed and mouth still open, a few drops of sweat slowly rolling down his chest. When he opened his eyes and saw Jaime watching, he closed his mouth into a small smile. Jaime returned it and they stayed that way a moment, breaths still hitching, chests still rising and falling quickly.

Brynden took his hand off Jaime’s calf, then leaned over and looked at the place where his nails had been. “Does that hurt?” He frowned. Jaime shrugged.

“It’s not bad. It was worth it for the look on your face.”

“And what was that?”

“One free of armor.”

Brynden combed a hand through his waves. “You’ve a smart mouth, haven’t you?” His smile was almost a grin as he moved to pull out from inside Jaime. Jaime caught his arm before he could.

“Stay. Just a moment longer.”

Brynden looked at him without questions in his eyes and stilled himself.

Jaime closed his eyes and made himself feel nothing but Brynden inside him, the weight and length and thickness of him. The idea of being separated from him suddenly felt sorrowful. A few hours ago he would have chastised himself terribly for this kind of thought. But the absence of shame he’d been feeling since he’d sat on Brynden’s bed was like a key turning inside him, unlocking the knowledge that this hour, this moment, this pleasure, was no one’s but his and Brynden’s. This freedom was what honor was made of.

Jaime opened his eyes. “Honor is freedom,” he whispered. He reached his left arm up and Brynden took his hand and wove his fingers through it.

“Yes,” Brynden whispered back, taking his fingers wound with Jaime’s and placing them over his own heart. “And now, Jaime Lannister, I know who you are.”

***

Edmure Tully scowled as he waved his hand to signal that the drawbridge should be pulled up. Jaime rolled his eyes slightly. If Edmure Tully was given a gold coin every time he scowled, he’d put the Iron Bank out of business in less than an hour. As the bridge was hauled up and the twilight dimmed, he looked to the window of Brynden’s room. There was a lamp burning on the sill. _New oil_ , Jaime thought with a throb of leftover pleasure. He looked back at Edmure, who was looking at him strangely. As if trying to hide an expression. When he saw Jaime looking, he scowled.

Jaime was miles away when he figured out why Edmure Tully had stopped scowling for one second of his miserable life. As he put down the message that the terrified herald had held out to him, the poor boy’s arm shaking and making his armor clank, he looked back in the direction of Riverrun. Somewhere in the river or in one of its tributaries was swimming a man who’d most likely be called a coward and a fool, and most definitely a traitor who lacked honor. He could hear the people now. “Blackfish? More like ‘Lackfish’! Pond scum!”

Bronn read the message over Jaime’s shoulder. “Well that’s one fucker who’s got iron balls, hasn’t he?”

“You wouldn’t know what they look like,” Jaime said without looking at him.

“Pfft. Like you would?”

“Yes, actually.” Jaime crumpled up the message and threw it in the fire. He moved past a head-shaking, for once speechless Bronn, and walked out of the tent and in the opposite direction of Riverrun. He tugged at his armor as he walked into the growing darkness. He didn’t know where he was going, but he should have known better than to question the destination. Wherever he was going, he knew he’d get there as a free man.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my old so and so for her support and being a fellow "Brynme" shipper. x


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